


Throat

by Pear



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:38:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pear/pseuds/Pear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran stares. Written for kink_bingo 2010 - body part fetish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throat

In this strange country of smelly dogs and cold nights, it seemed impolite to stare. It was impolite to stare at home but that was for entirely different reasons. In Antiva, staring at the wrong time was a terrible idea. In certain situations however, staring was much required. Here in Ferelden, staring seemed to mean too much interest for all the wrong reasons. It took some getting used to, and Zevran wasn't sure he understood it entirely. In Antiva, a man might wear something so concealing if he worried about his throat being cut. Women protecting their virtue often wore diaphanous scarves wound loosely around their necks, protecting them in a cloud of shimmering silk that only gave hints of their charms.

Assassination and seduction went hand in hand, or hand to throat in his experience. Many times Zevran held that knife, pressing the honed edge against trembling flesh. It excited him, almost as much as when he pressed his lips to the throat of a lover. It aroused him to feel the thrumming blood just under the skin, the pules of fear or desire.

So many of the Fereldan women went bare shouldered, or wore collars set low at the base of their throats. Zevran found it distracting and exciting, those lovely necks exposed. As they hiked grimly through the forests, he could see a faint sheen of sweat on Morrigan's nape. The fine hairs damp and sticking to her skin reminded him of much more pleasant days before he came to Fereldan.

The Warden Alistair, in his heavy steel and chain, was less exposed. He could still glimpse the tanned throat of Alistair whenever the man took off his helmet. Zevran especially enjoyed the view from behind, when the muscles in the Warden's neck tensed during some especially ribald joke. The other Warden, the quiet and serious mage, wore a high collar stitched with golden threads. Mages seemed ill at ease with their bodies, Zevran thought. They covered themselves from head to toe, as their robes were meant to be chastity devices. Except for Morrigan, flashing tantalizing pale skin, but she couldn't be compared to the mages of the Circle. Still, he enjoyed the high collar and the way it clung to mage's throat. The idea of peeling it off some day produced a thrill that shivered up from his groin to his chest.

Out of half heartened respect for the absurd customs of the country, he stared covertly. Still sometimes he forgot and let his eyes linger too long in certain places. Morrigan was quick to remind him of his transgressions.

"I would not have you staring at me." Her voice was arch and full of disdain. Zevran turned the full charm of his smile upon the disgruntled witch of the wilds.

"Your beauty is like the sun, it blinds me to all else," he replied grandly.

"Do not think your pretty words excuse your bad manners," she snapped. Behind her Alistair rolled his eyes and Zevran grinned. The mage shook his head in exasperation and said something under his breath.

"Careful, or she might cast a spell on you," Alistair laughed. Morrigan glared over her shoulder at them.

"Do you think?" Zevran asked. "I have danced with mages before, both vertically and horizontally. They are formidable opponents, and magnificent lovers." Alistair blushed brightly, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find some reply. Zevran noticed how the flush spread down to his neck, the way his throat moved as the bashful warden swallowed and tried stare at a point just over the heads of their companions. He wondered if the man felt the same hot stab of desire when watching the mages. All that armor made it impossible to know for certain. Under his own leather and steel, Zevran felt his cock swell a little at the idea of running his tongue along Morrigan's throat, imagining the bitter salt taste of her skin.

"Morrigan is entirely too sour for your flattery Zevran," he finally choked out.

"Ahh, but some sourness enhances the sweetness, don't you think?" The assassin laughed and Alistair flushed a brighter shade of pink. "Come my friend, less talking and more trudging."


End file.
